"I'll have to suck it up and look for a room in a shared apartment. Those are more flexible." The prospect of sharing my space with strangers is daunting. I grew up in group homes, sharing a bedroom with five, sometimes seven other girls. Only half were friendly at any given time.
///
"You're not going to live with strangers, Clara." He sounds a little concerned, a lot protective. In the background, the music changes, and I tap my foot against the floor to the rhythm of the new tune, watching as a crease appears on Blake's forehead and he runs a hand through his almost black hair. "You never know what weirdos you'll end up with."
"Trust me, I'm not a fan of sharing, but I'm out of options."
"I have an idea." He pulls himself to his full height, which I estimate to be at six foot two or three. Despite his height, he appears strong, not massive. His muscular build and tapered waist make him look athletic. Scratch that. They make him look the definition of sexy and sinful.
"Do tell, because I'm completely out of good ones."
"The apartment next to mine above the bar is empty."
It takes a moment for his meaning to register. Blake owns a bar, and while I did know he owns the entire building and lives on the upper floor, I had no idea there were two apartments there, but it makes sense. The building is huge. There's just one hitch in this plan. Considering the size and location....
"I don't think I can afford that kind of rent."
"I wouldn't charge you."
This stabs at my pride. I make it a point to take the chances that are given to me, but this feels like charity. I deliberate my answer for a moment because I don't want to come off as ungrateful when he's going above and beyond to help me.
"I wouldn't feel comfortable with that, Blake."
"Look, that place is empty anyway, and I'd never rent it out."
"Why not?"
"I don't want neighbors," he says simply. "You're a friend, that's different. And it would only be for twelve weeks tops."
Emotions clog my throat, but I muster a smile. Even though the Bennetts have been a constant in my life for the past two years, I'm still surprised every time they offer to help me. Still, this doesn't feel right.
As if sensing my doubts, he adds, "You can pay me what you're paying for rent now."
"That's more reasonable, even if not fair to you."
"It's fair." His eyes crinkle as he offers me a wide smile. "Now, since the kids seem peaceful, let's return to the realm of grown-ups." He leads me away, resting one hand on the center of my back, splaying his fingers wide.
"Do you want to come see the apartment?"
"Sure. When do you have time?"
"Tomorrow would be good since it's Sunday, but I'll probably sleep like the dead after this. Monday? Before happy hour begins at the bar?"
"Deal. And Blake? Thank you. You're the one saving my bacon now. Big-time."
His fingers press gently into my back, and he leans in dangerously close. "I'll be a fun neighbor, I promise."
Is it suddenly hot in here, or is it just me? I glance sideways, inspecting Blake. Yep, just me. He isn't even breaking a sweat, while it's all Niagara here under my dress. I wish I'd had the good sense to style my hair up in an elegant bun instead of loose waves, though I suspect the flash of heat has nothing to do with my hair sticking to the back of my neck and everything to do with the man next to me.
As we make our way to the center of the ballroom, I notice the hook holding up Alice's long train has come off, and the fabric is cinched behind her at her feet. Since she's engrossed in a conversation with Nate, it's possible she hasn't noticed. She could trip on it if she doesn't know.
"See you later," I mouth to Blake and head toward his sister. "Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, but the hook holding your train has come off."
Alice glances downward. "Oh, crap. They warned me this would happen because the fabric is so heavy. I have safety pins in a small white bag under our table."
"I'll go get it, and then I'm going to fix your dress."
"Always the savior, eh, Clara?" Nate asks good-naturedly.
"That's how I roll." Ah, I miss having him as a boss, or at least close by. I have no siblings, but while I worked for him, it felt a bit like I had an older brother.
Five minutes later, Alice and I are in the bathroom, and I'm trying to replace the hook with the safety pin. Alice, bless her, is talking my ear off about everything.
"I just can't rein in my grin," she confides. "Every time someone says "smile for a photo", my face just explodes with happiness." Her happiness is infectious, and I can't help wondering how it must feel to love someone and to be loved back so fiercely. "I think my face is going to hurt from so much grinning tomorrow."
///
"There, all done," I exclaim, finally. "I think it'll hold, but I'll keep an eye on it anyway."
"You're my hero. Now let's get out there and have a blast."
We do have a blast. I dance my feet off, but my mind keeps circling back to one thought-especially whenever I'm dancing with a certain Bennett brother. If Blake's proximity affects me this much, how on earth will I pull off living next to him?
CHAPTER TWO
Clara
"I am going to frame this and look at it every day." I'm hugging a magazine to my chest while doing a bad impression of a cha-cha. This is one of the best things about having my own small office at the studio. Inside here, I can be as ridiculous as I want. No one can see my antics, which often leads people to not take me seriously. As if having a sense of humor and a tendency to overexpress my joy means I can't be serious when the situation requires it.
But whatever, I'm not going to change anyone's minds, so I've learned to only let my crazy out around people I trust. Once I've danced the energy away, I lay the magazine on the desk, smoothing it out. I've crumpled it a bit in my display of affection. It's a stellar review on one of the last segments I've worked on with Nate as his assistant producer. It only came out last week. I like my job, but I'm not crazy about it, and sometimes a good review is exactly what I need to keep pushing.
I know that I'll never make it to executive producer, but that's fine with me. I have no such aspirations. I want to transition out of TV at some point, because work-life balance isn't a thing in the industry. I hope to have a family of my own one day-kids to love, a husband to dote on. I also want a job that will allow me to contribute financially while not taking over my life. Maybe I should wish for calorie-free ice cream while I'm imagining impossible things.
For now though, I'm doing my best to be the most kick-ass assistant producer. I work on a local TV show, and they pay me a salary that is just enough to buy my own tiny apartment just outside the city.
Today I'm being sneaky instead of kick-ass, tiptoeing out of the studio at four o'clock so I can meet Blake before happy hour begins at the bar. Thank heavens my boss is on a set on the outskirts of San Francisco today, so he's not privy to my shenanigans.
After parking my car a block away from the bar, I walk at a brisk pace, soaking in the energy of the Pacific Heights district surrounding me. It's a bright, if chilly, evening, perfect for the second week of May. I've been here before, but now I'm seeing things through a different lens.
The bar itself is in a three-story building, on the ground floor. The apartments are on the top floor. He uses the floor in between for storage, which means no noise from the bar reaches the apartments. I clap my hands in excitement as I survey the building once more: fresh, energetic, promising a good time if you step inside.
The bar is already buzzing with customers, despite it not even being five o'clock. Then again, most tourist guidebooks or websites list it as a recommendation, so chances are many of the customers are tourists who aren't bound to their work schedule. Two bartenders are behind the counter, but Blake sits at one of the high, round tables right next to the bar. He's with two other men and a woman who are wearing suits, and from what I can see, they are pointing to some papers on the table. He's in serious business mode, and it's a damn good look on him. Even though he's talking to a group, he dominates the space and, as far as I can tell, the conversation.
I wave discreetly at Blake, then hop on one of the stools in front of the bar in a move I hope conveys that I'll wait for him to finish the conversation. But Blake nods at the three strangers and heads toward me. The crowd parts for him as he stalks through the room. Blake emanates power and confidence in a subtle way. Everything about him makes you stand taller and pay attention.